Smoke days came and then disappeared with the hope of youth trailing behind in the summer skies, it was where we all found a freedom that can never really be explained or described.All we have are the memories that may not be true but we hold so close to our faintly beating hearts, if we have not this then what else do we have?The slowing of our bodies is so apparent when all we have left to look back at is the possible hope of things being o.k. Maybe.Distant calls remind us of what we were when the freedom which no longer breathes was full of a beauty we failed to fully understand.Why upon why equal the questions endless persistence of our own fading hopes.It never felt quite so far away as it does on the nights filled with light we can't place into anywhere that is attached to any form of reality that the outsiders would consider viable.I dropped far too many times into the realms of mystical hope where lights give answers that only relate to the induced state we find ourselves stumbling through. Believing we have maybe found a way through the questions of confusion and youth and the imagined hope of our own idealism.Never wanting to admit defeat to the hanging struggle, draped in pain, tears, screams, sarcasm and confusion after confusion after question after pretending I might just have a clue on where to go.It all ends in that huge empty space of no named ghosts walking through the seams that maybe we are still yet to see fully in the dark between the tiny gaps in our closed eyes, or in the darkness of the full black sun, still unable to dissect where we are bound to finally fall. It weakens by time upon distance over the names we were fixed to believe true when we were squeezed into this unforgiving world we call safety, or home, or hatred, or the place, time and name when we finally roll over and succumb to its overwhelming pressure and persistence.We give up on what might just be right as they have worn us down, made us weak, and told us we are to blame. We as the fools we are accept what we are given and throw our hands up like we have committed the wrongs, like we are what they claim, like it is us that are the problem.But it's them. It's you. In a way it is me because I have also let them own the control as I was bred to be exactly what they wanted.Over long cold years I was ground down and further beneath any chance of escaping unmarked, unchanged and unknown.